Friday, December 08, 2006

Maybe it's because it's winter....

Maybe it's because it's winter now, and often there are gales and horrible cold wet rain outside, but I'm feeling less and less inclined to spend more than the essential time out-doors (you know what I'm talking about), and more and more time snuggled on the couch. Where in the summer, I'd lie down near, but not right up on my Lady, well, now, if I can manage to make her book, notebook or that horrible new hard animal she rests on her lap and massages constantly budge up, then it's on the lap I like to be. Right now, it's not easy for her, but I don't mind that, I am resting across her lap, my head on her left forearm, and she's tapping away on that infernal machine, but at least I got the place on her lap. Score one for Trixie!

Things have changed around here. She figures it's for the better. Big changes. She sent me off to the kennels for two weeks, and when I came home, everywhere smelled different. All the walls were different. Anywhere I'd rubbed against had lost my smell. My bed was here, my bowl, and the faithful old couch in the living-room (am I hearing right? Is she talking about dumping that too?), but in the study, where the best snuggling couch is - I couldn't get at it. There were boxes. There were shelves out of place. There was mayhem.... And Then... she sent me back to the kennels, and when she brought me home a few days later, my world had shifted from under me. All the floors were different. I mean ALL! Nowhere with my scent on it at all. Well, excuse me... is this my house? Am I entitled to know it? I think so, so I did what dogs do. She was not happy. We're having a little game at the moment. I'm restricting myself to hard floors, though, and there are more of them. She can hear me move about now. Knows where I am at every minute, because my nails go clack-clack like high heels on the hallway and living-room floors.

Ah. I'll get used to it. She keeps saying we needed the change - words like clearing and closure, and new starts keep appearing. I'm inclined to want things to be like they always have been. It's got its good points, though. She wants to be home more now that the walls and floors are done. She still has boxes to shift in the study, so while I can't get at the couch, I'm allowed to sit here, right here, on her lap, while she does her Blog thing.... Sorry, while I dictate for my Blog Thing. See you all later.... OH... and my canine friends, I'm doing a survey. Do any of you actually like those Christmas-tree things? Let me know. I still can't make up my mind.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Kennels

You might have noticed, if you've been reading my lady's blog that last week she and her sister took off to someplace called France. I've never been there. The week before that she went to someplace called TheWedding. I've never been there either. She goes all over the place. She flies up in the sky, and crosses water on boats, and I've never done either of those things either. When my lady goes to these places, I get to go to The Kennels. The kennels is a place with a lot of dogs, basically. There are cats, too. And horses. When I get to go out for my run at the kennels, I get to roll in horse-poo. Fun!!! It's not the worst place in the world. I'm warm and fed. And I get the occasional cuddle. But know what? It's not home. It just is not home.

Now, I know I shouldn't be looking for too much sympathy. It's a cross of my own making in many ways, because if I could bring myself to enjoy travelling in the car - or to simply tolerate it without making a horrendous din - then I'd probably be brought on some of her trips. I'd get to visit the Dad, who loves dogs, and would love to have me visit. I'd probably get to go to the pub with him, sit under his table and get fed tidbits from the barman. But I can't tolerate a 5-mile journey, never mind a 220-mile journey, so I get to go to the kennels, while she traipses off all over the country for her weekends, her workshops, her family "things".

I'm only writing this, because I've been brought home (out on some kind of temporary parole) for a few days! Really! She collected me yesterday, and now I'm hearing mentions of Thursday travelling. This is ridiculous! Am I, or am I not, her companion-animal? What kind of companionship is that? Will someone please let her know that I'm not happy about this?

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Where Have I Been? And on the subject of Walks...

I've been here. Sleeping a lot. This couch, the sitting-room couch, my little igloo-bed (when my lady is out), that sunny patch on the hall carpet, and of course, THE Bed, too. I told you I was getting old. Well, now I know it.

I said I'd be talking about walks at at some stage. That they deserved a post all of their own, me being a dog and all. Well, it seem talking about walking is all I'm going to be doing from now on. There was a very humiliating event on a Sunday. I know it was a Sunday, because she was getting the paper, and she said, as she always does, "Well, Trixie, will we go get the paper?"

[Aside: Truth is, she doesn't always say that. Often, if it's raining, windy, cold, foggy, frosty, damp, or threatening to become any of those things, she takes the car, but that ruins a good story, so stick with "as she always does". OK?]

Because I'm quite deaf, I rely on a lot of other signals to tell me what's being said, but the emergence of my lead (and a plastic bag) from the hall cupboard told me that indeed we were going walking. I was Happy. I mean HAPPY. I love walks. I love getting out and sniffing under escalonias, and checking out the lampposts, and seeing that Jack Russell up the road thinking he has some chance with me. (Huh! Not a chance!). I always jump up and down. I always do my little "puppy-dance", and she says "Shush. Stay still. If I can't get your lead on, we can't go for a walk", so I quieten down, she puts on the lead, and I set off to take my lady for her walk.

We go right. We always go right. We pass the open gardens, and the fences. I detour under the willow at the corner house. (I love that extending lead she got for me, and that I get "free rein" unless we're near traffic). There are children, who ask about the "puppy" Puppy! Me! , and my lady always proudly tells them that I'm twice their age, or all their ages added together, depending on the ages of the children. (I'm no judge of that. I trust her judgement though). Sometimes I get a patting, and I've been used in Anti-Dog-Fear therapy by quite a few mothers in the neighbourhood. "Look at the cute little Dog!" I am cute. I am little. Some children who wouldn't go near a Spaniel will come check me out! I enjoy it. But they're never allowed to give me chocolate or crisps!

When we emerge from the circle of houses, onto the Thorn Road, she reins me in a little. I know better than to step off the footpath, but there could be other dogs. There's a dalmation, and a boxer who walk here regularly, but they're on leads, and well-behaved. It's that Chow who runs free, and darts into the road to bark at me that has my lady worried. What if I take off after her, and a car comes? So I content myself with checking out the rubbish that's blown under the hedges. Juice-boxes, crisp packets,

[pause, while I follow a natural urge, and my lady responsibly deals with the resulting waste matter. Ahem!]

And at the top of the road, we have to cross the main road. I know about this. I know about Wait, wait, wait. We wait. Cars pass. And then there's a gap, and she says Quick Across, and we run. And once we're on the other side, five minutes from home, I realise I'm exhausted. Did we go the long way round? Why do I feel so tired? Oh, I could just lie down here and rest a little bit.

Friends. I got carried home. Luckily, I am small, and luckily, my lady loves me. But I have been on my last outing to the shop, it seems. From now on, a gentle stroll up the path, and down the path is all I'll be doing.

Walking is wonderful. While you can do it, get out there and do it. And if you have a dog, or can borrow a dog, take them along, and think of me as you go. Enjoy!

Sunday, August 20, 2006

All about Me

You know a little about me already. But just in case you don't, here is the official autobiography. (synopsised notes)

I am fourteen (count them!) - fourteen years old. Since April. My lady marks my birthday. She doesn't do anything wild or frivolous on the day. But she always says My, my Trixie, imagine, another year. Remember the day we came to the kennels to get you? You were so tiny... and stuff like that.

My health is good. I'm not on any medication (apart from the twice-yearly treatment for ...you know... parasites... ugh). This is quite remarkable in a dog my age. Everything these days is "considering her age"

My diet is remarkably boring. Good, but boring. I used to be allowed treats of all kinds - bits of biscuit, fat from a pork chop, even chocolate at times, but then, my digestion became a bit sensitive, and it was decided to restrict my food to just the Dog-Food stuff. It's ok. It's tasty. She rings the changes by offering Rabbit or Duck or chicken flavour. But it's not chocolate. Know what I mean? Mind you, my digestion's improved hugely, and I'm ... ahem... very regular, "considering her age"

I like: Sunshine. Love sleeping in sunshine. There's a certain day when the spring turns round towards summer, and I climb to the top of the garden, and I could just sit there in the sun all day. My lady always notices, and takes it as a sign of summer coming. Tummy-Rubs, Ear-rubs, general lovin' and rubbin' I'm not fussy about where it comes from. If you're willing to give me some attention, I'm willing to receive it. Cabbage-stalks. Who knew they were so delicious? I don't get bones any more, but these are a decent substitute. One fell to the floor while my lady was cooking. She thought it was cute the way I hauled it away to bury it in my bed, and left me have another. She figures there's vitamins in there. I just like the chew. Visitors. Known people, strangers, anyone with feet to sniff. Bonus is if they're willing to give above mentioned tummy-rubs, etc. Extra bonus if they're here to eat. Some visitors don't know about the restrictions on my diet. It's always worth sitting under the table looking hopeful, just in case. Walks. This topic deserves a post all of its own. Yes, indeedy!

I don't like.... You knew there had to be something I don't like, didn't you? Well, I don't like: The car. I hate it. I've never liked it. Never appreciated being in it. Maybe there was some trauma or misunderstanding when I was really young, maybe my excitement just got transferred into panic. I don't know. But a journey of any length - in a box, or on a lap makes no difference. It's torture to me. Please only put me in the car if you really, really, really have to. Lamb flavoured tinned dog-food. I like pouches of lamb flavour (yum), but they do something to the tins - yuck. There was a day when we were all out, and lamb was all there was, and she said "It's good food. Eat it" and I thought YOU EAT IT, but she didn't and she waited and waited, and I wouldn't eat it, and eventually I ate some of the dry biscuit-food that's always around, and she said "You must really hate that lamb food. I'll never buy it again" And she hasn't. Having my nails clipped, and anything done to my face. Necessary evils. Uck, Uck. Uck. And finally, I am a dog. I may be smaller than many of them, but I can still chase one, so it goes without saying, that I don't like (I know you may like them, but what can I say?), I really don't like CATS.

I said I had a lot to say

So, I said to her, Well?and she said to me, Well, What?and I said to her, What's today's topic?and she said to me, Today's topic for what?and I said, You know, the Blog thing.and she said, OH, that was just a one-off for you. It's my blog. You don't have to do any more on that. It was just for Sunday Scribblings

And I said, Ohhhh. I see. I'm not needed any more, is that it?and she said, It's not that. It's just that it's my blog, you see. Not your blog. Go back to sleep.

So I did for a little while,and then I got to thinking,I liked getting to share a bit of my life with people.She told me there were people who liked hearing what I had to saySo why can't I have a blog?

About Me

Just past fifty, with a spring in my step some days, pen and notebook in my bag, I keep on being diverted by interesting projects... like blogging, but these are not diversions. They seem to be part of the journey